


Soda bread and mulled cider

by Zeckarin



Series: And they were roomates... (but there were two beds) [50]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Banter, Cold-Blooded Crowley (Good Omens), Gen, Humor, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Queerplatonic Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Sentient Bentley (Good Omens), jealous Bentley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:41:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29629932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeckarin/pseuds/Zeckarin
Summary: Crowley has some evil deed to spread in Ireland and offers his angel a ride. Aziraphale is torn between the very interesting book he is restoring and the prospect of delicious soda bread.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: And they were roomates... (but there were two beds) [50]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1523585
Comments: 11
Kudos: 41





	Soda bread and mulled cider

**Author's Note:**

> This is a light, silly story to make you all smile before next whump^^  
> I whish you all a happy week!

“Hey, Aziraphale,” called Crowley, snatching the Bentley’s keys from the coffee table and putting his sunglasses on. “I’m going for a ride, will be out for a few days. Wanna go?”

The angel looked up from the four-hundred-years old binding he was carefully restoring, and took his round glasses off. “Oh? Where are you heading to?”

“Derry,” answered Crowley absent-mindedly, checking something on his phone.

Aziraphale blinked in surprise. Crowley didn’t go often to Ireland since St Patrick’s myth had first started to spread. He understood the demon’s grudge, of course. No one liked to be the victim of slander. “Derry? Why Derry?”

“To see the girls,” deadpanned Crowley.

The demon watched as the reference got right through his friend without lighting the slightest spark of recognition.

Aziraphale looked confused. “What girls?”

“Nevermind. Do you want to come or not?”

The angel looked down at his work, clearly torn. Crowley chuckled.

“How about _I_ go there while _you_ work here, and I’ll bring you back some of that soda bread from Birr you like so much.”

“Crowley!” exclaimed Aziraphale, half in delight, half in refusal, “you cannot! It is nowhere near Derry!”

“‘Tis not that far. And it will be good for the car, she needs to stretch her tires.”

“Oh, well,” said the angel demurely, “in that case, I imagine I shall thank you.”

“You can, if you _don’t_ want me to bring you anything back at all,” warned Crowley with a scowl before snapping his fingers to dress himself in his usual black jacket.

Aziraphale tutted. “Dearest, you cannot possibly head out like this. It is _winter_.”

“It’s fiiiiiine angel,” protestested the demon, rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses. “I’m not made of sugar.”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “Sugar does not fear _cold_.”

“I’m a demon, I don’t fear anything,”answered Crowley breezily, heading to the door. “Watch the news tomorrow! You’ll love it!”

Aziraphale got up hurriedly, hands gripping the edge of his desk. “Crowley, _at least_ take a scarf!”

“Scarves aren’t cool!” shot the demon back, “and my baby has heating!”

Aziraphale looked at the door, which closed with a merry jingle, then at his desk, and let out a frustrated groan.

* * *

Crowley patted the wheel and put his phone down on the passenger seat. “All right, girl, let’s go. You’ll love the ferry. Loads of seagulls to scare, there.”

Bentley didn’t move.

“Hey, girl? We’re going, wake up.”

The car didn’t answer.

Crowley frowned, snatched his glasses off and glared at the dashboard. “Are you still sulking because of that lamborghini? I only said it was beautiful, it’s not like I would _buy_ it, you drama queen!”

The silence in the car grew slightly heavier, and the demon wisely decided to change the subject. “What’s wrong? What are you waiting for? We need to go now if we want to be--”

The passenger door opened, and Aziraphale, warm overcoat and hat on, picked up Crowley’s phone to put it in the glove compartment before stepping in. He carefully deposited a worn out tapestry bag at his feet and sighed happily, wiggling slightly in his seat.

Bentley roared to life.

“I thought you wanted to stay,” said Crowley, surprised.

“I changed my mind. I cannot decently let you raise havoc in Ireland without a good thwarting.”

Crowley squinted his eyes. “If you’re here to force me to wear a stupid _scarf…_ ”

Aziraphale looked at him innocently. “Why would I do that, dear boy? It would ruin your aesthetic.”

“So you’ve not changed your mind because you worry I’ll get _cold_?” asked Crowley defiantly.

The angel gaped. “My dear, you are a demon! You can perfectly summon any garment you may need in a snap of your fingers! Why would I doubt your capacity to keep yourself warm?”

Crowley grumbled, slightly mollified, and started to drive. He’d learnt a long time ago that if his friend didn’t answer a question directly, then it was for the best not to push. He would _not_ , for example, ask if Aziraphale thought him too stubborn to summon a warm coat were his inner snake to start suffering from the weather.

The angel rummaged through his bag and brandished a thermos*.

*Not _that_ thermos.

“I brought some hot mulled cider for the road!” he exclaimed with a bright beam.

Crowley sighed. Sometimes, it was best to admit your defeat without a fight. 

“Okay, pour me a cup.”

**Author's Note:**

> Tomorrow will be the beginning of another 5+1 (except it will be a 1+5^^)  
> I hope you'll like it!  
> And thursday is my birthday, so I intend to do something special! No idea what it will be, but probably something fun. Last year it was the magicians story, I think I'll go for something similar :)


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